Lily Wight
by Murlyndsgirl
Summary: Whatever happened to poor Lily? Follow the doomed would-be Chantry sister as she is forced to account for her sins in Aeonar, the Chantry's secret prison. Will she survive? Will she escape? Will she find Jowan and make him pay for ruining her life? (Warning: story will be dark. This is not a happy, fuzzy bunny tale.)[Hint: The title is a play on words ...] *FINAL CHAPTER POSTED!*
1. Chapter 1

**{Whatever happened to Lily? A possible accounting of a young, foolish girl's trip to the Chantry Prison of Aeonar, and what happens to her there...}**

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**Chapter 1: Tears of Blood**

_"Those who oppose thee_

_Shall know the wrath of Heaven"_

_-from Chant of Andraste: 7_

So many chains for one woman to wear.

Lily was certain they'd meant it as a symbol. She felt the weight of the shackles on her wrists and ankles.

Her joints and muscles ached from the four days she had been thusly bound. A heavy iron ring connected her chains to the Templar's horse in front of her.

She bled where her skin had been rubbed raw; the metal burned as it scraped against those open sores.

She understood the message clearly: the weight of her own sins was causing her pain. It wasn't the Chantry's fault; she'd brought this upon herself.

She knew that. Really, the chains weren't necessary.

Jowan.

For the thousandth time since she'd been arrested, Lily cursed the day she'd ever met the mage, cursed her heart for loving him and cursed herself for believing his lies.

Never again.

She had not resisted her capture. She deserved this. She'd taken vows before the Maker, in Andraste's name… and she'd absolutely shattered them, each and every one.

For the love of a bloodmage.

How could she have been such a fool? She closed her eyes against the surge of regret and shame in her heart. She had already cried herself dry of tears, there were no more to shed. She felt a warm drop of blood slide along her skin from her torn wrists and thought that tears of blood would have to do; it was all she had left.

She swayed atop the squat pony they'd found for her to ride just the previous day. Before that, she'd been forced to walk behind their horses. Her knees were still cut and darkly bruised from the many times she'd fallen. So the squat pony was a blessing, she was grateful for the beast, even if her bottom was sore and her legs were burning.

Her jailers reined to a halt and Lily tried to fight off a new wave of dizziness. They had forgotten to give her water lately, and she feared she might feint. The air was dry and uncomfortably cold. She blinked, looking around the ruins of the Imperial Highway they'd been following. They were heading into the mountains.

To Aeonar. Wherever that was.

The taller of the two Hunters dismounted and approached her pony. Like his fellow Templar, he kept his face wrapped and his head under his helm. She could only see his cold, grey eyes.

"Can you stand?" he said. His voice was like gravel.

Lily hoped so. As painful as it would be, she longed to restore circulation to her legs and feet.

The man dragged her, chains and all, from her pony and placed her on her feet. She gasped and stumbled into him. The pain was white in her mind. He held her, but distantly, clinically…clearly only because having to lift her from the ground would mean more work. It was more efficient this way.

After a minute against his icy cold armor, she nodded and gingerly stood on her own. The weight of the chains pulled mercilessly.

The second Hunter (Lily wondered if she were a woman) returned from behind some bushes and nodded to the first. Lily was unchained from the iron ring and led behind the foliage herself. It was embarrassing; even now that she'd done this in front of them several times, doing her personal business this way. She tried hard not to think about it. It was simply their job to watch the prisoner, and simply her job to be as efficient as possible, and not to fall over as her limbs trembled with every movement.

He brought her back to the horses. The shorter Hunter placed a canteen of water to Lily's lips, and she drank as much as she could, even as the first Hunter was refastening the chains to her cuffs.

Silence. The Hunters rarely spoke, even to each other. The wind gusted and Lily shivered. A cube of trail tack was offered to her. She opened her mouth to accept it. It was bitter, and tasted of sawdust, but it was, at this point, better than nothing.

Strangely, those horrid cubes are also what the Hunters themselves ate. Sparingly.

The taller Hunter produced at blindfold from his pack. "The remainder of this journey is forbidden to your eyes, prisoner," he said.

He tied the blindfold snugly about her eyes. Lily was grateful for the bit of warmth it gave her face.

She heard her pony kneel and felt her keepers' cold, gloved hands help her back atop the beast. They turned away from the highway and moved toward the northeast.

Next stop would be Aeonar, her new home.

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**Please say hello if you've read this and think it might be worth another chapter or two! ty ty!**


	2. Chapter 2

**[A/N: Dragon Age and all it's lovely people belong to Bioware]**

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**Chapter 2: Feeding the Dragon**

_"All things are known to our Maker_

_And he shall judge their lies"_

_-Transfigurations 1_

The sunlight was wan and fading in the west, through the mountain peaks. Her blindfold removed, Lily blinked against the fading light, pale as it was, and focused on the prison before her. It rose in dark majesty, towering over the mountains in its midst. The dark stone of its making seemingly absorbed life and light itself. Spire pinions in black metal cast ugly shadows, like giant teeth, on the path before them. The fortress reminded Lily of a dragon painting she'd seen once; a huge, black beast, poised upon the peak of this great mountain, its jaws open and waiting for those who wished to enter.

Her shuddering breath frosted in the air before her face.

The Templars led their beasts across the chasm drawbridge leading to the black gate of the prison. Lily saw no guards at the gate. Other than a wisp of smoke from some chimney within, the place seemed as empty as a tomb.

At their approach, the immense portcullis was raised. Only when they were inside the first courtyard, and the portcullis closed again, did a guard step out from his station. He saluted the Templars.

Her jailers nodded. "We have the prisoner sent to us by Knight-Commander Greagoir," the tall one announced simply.

"You are expected, Hunters. Her Excellency has received the papers that were sent ahead. She waits above."

More polite bows and salutes. Lily was lifted roughly from her pony and set down hard on the frozen cobblestones. She bit her lip to keep from screaming- her frozen feet and bleeding ankles could not support her weight. They did not let her fall, however. A Hunter took one of her arms each and dragged her along.

One did not keep Her Excellency waiting, it seemed.

Lily tried to find a coherent thought midst her flashing pain. Was she facing her trial right now? She thought…bizarrely, she thought she might be able to rest first. Her mind laughed at that. _It's a prison, stupid._ There would be no comfort for her.

Never any comfort again.

A series of gated courtyards led around the outer ring of the lower fortress. Each courtyard was open to the walls and towers above it. An attacking enemy had only one way into the place: over the narrow drawbridge, if it were not already drawn up against their attack, and a subsequent series of walled courtyards for what seemed like a mile into the Keep.

Easily defended with a handful of guards, or better yet, a handful of mages; it was a Keep that was never meant to fall. Lily shuddered at that thought. How under the Maker's Light had the Chantry ever taken this place from the Imperium?

In the second, higher, ring of towers, a few robed figures could be seen. Each figure bore a sunburst symbol on his or her forehead, and did not look in her direction.

Tranquiled mages. Lily shuddered. She was not a mage, however. Tranquility would not be an option.

More stairs. More people. A few Templars. Many more Tranquil.

Lily had yet to see anyone who seemed like a prisoner. Her heart quailed.

More stairs. She tried to move her feet to keep up, but her handlers did not slow down. Her banged feet were bleeding badly now.

The base of the central tower stood here. Six guards waited. They spoke of her, or exchanged passwords. Lily wasn't certain. A strange sound caught her attention and she looked up. Two robed figures hung by their necks from a thick beam stretched out between towers above. The bodies swung in the frozen wind. Something in Lily's mind snapped. Up in that tower, her fate awaited. To die like that, hung like refuse until the birds picked you clean…

"No!" she managed to say. Her Hunters were at her arms again in an instant, and she was dragged within.

Iron-bound doors opened to the main tower. She had no energy to fight or resist. "No! I don't want to die! Not like that! No!" she begged.

"You will be silent before Her Excellency!" the tall one growled. He squeezed her arm. It was a mere flexing of his fingers, yet she felt as if her bones would snap. She was silent again, but her mind quivered with raw fear.

"It is your choice, child" Lily heard a voice saying as they reached the top of the stairs.

A wide-eyed young man stood at the balcony. He held a thick, rope noose in his own hands. Two guards stood by, but at a distance. A middle-aged man in flowing Chantry robes was nearest. "The Tranquil rite would give your soul a chance to earn forgiveness, child. If you choose this, who can say what your soul's fate will be?"

"Nnn…nno." The young man stammered. "I ...I have made my choice..." He put the noose around his own neck. His shaking fingers fumbled with the knots as he tightened it. No one moved to help him.

"If this is your decision, so be it. May the Maker have mercy upon your soul. May he cleanse it so that you can one day be purified."

The young man stepped to the edge of the open balcony. He stood there, his gaze lingering on the dead men already hanging. Lily wanted to call him back! Horrified, she closed her eyes as he jumped. There was a fall of about ten feet, until the rope caught. The snap of the man's neck was audible.

The old man sighed. "I will inform Her Excellency." He said sadly.

He turned, noticing Lily and her Templar Hunters for the first time. "Ah, Captain Vehne, I see you have returned. The Revered Mother will be pleased. Come with me, if you would."

Her Hunter Captain bowed slightly, without releasing his painful grip on Lily's arm. The Senior Brother of the Chantry led them back into the dark interior of Aeonar's Tower Hold, to a wide inner staircase. Lily tried not to whimper.

Her passing left a trail of streaked blood on the smooth granite stairs.

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pls review! ty!


	3. Chapter 3

**{I'm surprised at where this is going, honestly. It wouldn't be much of a story if they just up and killed her now, would it? lol!}**

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**Chapter 3: Confessions**

_"To you, my second-born, I grant this gift:_

_In your heart shall burn_

_An unquenchable flame"_

_-Threnodies 5_

She was not what Lily had been expecting.

Nothing was.

Despite the silver streaks in her dark hair, the woman seated behind the large but simple desk possessed a stately beauty. Her high-collared robes were midnight blue and lined with silky, black fur.

She was attended by two Tranquil mages, one male and the other female.

The Chantry Elder bowed as he entered the room. He remained bowed, even as the Revered Mother finished reading the scroll in her hands for a long minute. Finally, she looked up, her steel blue eyes at once assessing and …Lily swallowed hard. The woman looked right through her, as if all her secrets were at once revealed. She felt naked before her. Lily averted her gaze and studied her bleeding toes and the grey stone floor.

Finally, there was a patient smile for the Chantry brother. "Such formality, Brother Hamrick," she chided gently.

The white-haired man straightened. "Forgive me, your Excellency. I…I also have sad news…"

"The boy opted to join his brothers, did he?"

Hamrick nodded. "Yes, your Grace."

She sighed. "It is not your fault, Hamrick. His fate is his own now. Please update the records."

"Yes, your Grace." He bowed again, and left.

The steel gaze returned first to Lily, and ventured after toward Captain Vehne. A smile tugged at her lips. "Captain, it is good that you returned so quickly. Did your prisoner give you much trouble?"

"No, Your Excellency. She did not."

"She weathered it well?"

Vehne spoke again, his voice still sounding like gravel grinding in his throat. "She did not give complaint, or try to escape."

"I see."

Lily marveled at the woman's tone. Was there the slightest hint of approval there? She dared to face her judge.

The woman stood. Lily was surprised to see sleek, black armor beneath the luxurious outer robe. The hilts of several holstered daggers remained in easy reach.

"Prisoner, you stand in the presence of Her Excellency the Revered Mother Yveline de l'Abriante," the female Tranquil stated flatly. Factually. "By the Grace of the Maker, Warden of Aeonar and servant to the right hand of the Grand Divine. "

Lily sank to her knees.

Yveline studied her newest prisoner. "She is ready for her trial…" she said simply. "Laissez-nous! Il ne faut plus que vous restiez ici."*

Without a word, the two Hunters bowed and left.

The female tranquil readied herself at a small side desk, pen and parchment at hand.

Yveline moved around the side of the desk. Her languid grace was marred by the disaster of a limp. Her left foot, Lily noticed as she moved closer, was …

Was missing.

A replacement foot fashioned of wood, in a matching boot, allowed the woman to walk, but it was obvious which boot held dead wood and which boot held the living flesh.

Yveline rested against the edge of her desk and folded her arms across her chest. "I have read the reports sent to me from Kinloch Hold, Lily of Denerim. There are serious charges pending against you. Aiding and abetting a maleficarum, destruction of Chantry property, trespass into restricted areas, attempted assault, lying to a superior, dereliction of your sworn oaths to the Maker …how do you plead? What do you have to say to this?

Lily did not look up. "I am guilty as charged, Revered Mother."

Yveline raised an eyebrow.

"That is all you have to say?"

"Yy..yes, your Grace."

Yveline frowned, "Yet, both the Knight-Commander and the First Enchanter suggested that you may have been a victim, Lily. That you were made a blood mage thrall, against your will. Are you certain this is not so?"

Lily looked up from the floor. It was so tempting to lie, to blame the entire matter on that convenient possibility. But she had promised herself, no more lies… no more deceit. "I am certain. I helped him because…because I loved him. We…were going to run away together. To start a family."

"You would betray the Maker in order to …make MORE babies born with the possible taint of magic?"

Lily flinched. "I…yes. I did not see it that way, at the time."

Yveline nodded to her male Tranquil assistant. He brought a sheaf of parchments to her. She leafed through the first several, and paused. "Yet this is not the first time you have been in trouble, with the Chantry, or with the Law?"

Lily blinked with surprise. How could they … she flinched again. What little hope she had held in her heart bled away. "No, it is not"

"Let us start at the beginning, shall we?"

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(translation from above: *"Leave us! It is no longer necessary for you to remain.")

**Next chapter: Lily's story...which is shaping up to be a sordid one indeed...**


	4. Chapter 4

**{AN: The only information we can go on about Lily's past is her class and abilities: from DA:O we learn that she is a rogue, and can clobber things with a mace in one hand, a dagger in the other. How in Thedas does a Chantry girl get those abilities? There's a story here, surely...}**

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**"Foul and corrupt are they**

**Who have taken His gift**

**And turned it against His children"**

**-Canticle of Transfigurations**

**Chapter 4: End of Innocence**

Hot tea.

Never had anything tasted so good to her.

Lily was allowed a chair. Her shackles were removed and her wounds dabbed with a stinging herb.

She sipped the tea and savored it. The Revered mother also sampled her tea, and waited. Lily held no delusions; this small respite was only so that a proper confession could be given. Maker help her, she trembled at the kindness, despite the punishment that surely waited for her afterwards. Tears she had thought forever spent formed anew in her eyes.

A slender elven Tranquil scrubbed the blood on the floor.

"Thank you, Genève," The Revered Mother said when the elf was done. The Tranquil bowed, and left with her bucket of dirty water.

The heavy double doors closed. They were alone once more, save for the two tranquiled mages, Malindra and Steffanios, who returned to their places. Lily took a deep breath.

"I was born in Denerim, your grace. My mother…died, I think, giving birth to me."

Yveline nodded. Something in her expression convinced Lily that the Revered Mother already knew some of this story. She should not leave anything out. Anything. She swallowed nervously.

"I was given to my only living relative, my great aunt Sirna. Auntie Sirna was a sister in the Denerim Chantry. I…I was lucky to have her, and the Chantry. There was food, and clothing. And, that is where I learned to sing…"

"But …"

Lily sighed. "But I did not realize my blessings, your Grace. I…rebelled. I found a group of friends in the marketplace. They…they…became my family. We stuck together. Eventually, I stopped coming home to the little room I shared with my Great Aunt. "

The Revered Mother waited while Lily took another small sip of the hot tea. "And how old were you when you did this?" she asked.

"About 11 or so."

"Go on…"

"The older kids in the group watched over the younger ones. Some of us had homes, well, shacks, to live in, some of us didn't. We had places to hide, places to sleep, people we trusted, people we didn't trust. Most the time, it was a game. We…stole food. But not too much – just, enough. Some of the merchants liked us anyway, and would give us things that were not good enough to sell. Other merchants hated us, and it was always a game to see what we could get away with …"

"Did you visit your Aunt Sirna?"

Lily blinked. "No, not much. On holidays, sometimes, because it seemed to make her feel better to know that I was alive."

Yveline nodded.

Lily continued, "I don't remember things being too bad in those early days. Sure, once in a while there was fighting, but it was never serious. As we got older, though…things…changed. We needed money. We started to steal larger things, and some of us learned to pick open locks. There were some other groups, too. Of older people, who had noticed us, and wanted to make us part of their group. But we refused. We stuck together…" Lily could see their faces. It'd been so long since she'd thought of them, all alive, and still together.

"When I was older, I learned that I could fight. It wasn't fancy…just a mix of tricks we used…but I was stronger than some of the others. I could hit people just so, and knock them silly. We'd take their money, or some of it, and run away. It was never about killing people. We didn't do that. Even so, the city guards, who used to ignore us, started to chase us down. One of our leaders ended up getting caught …and…they hanged him."

Lily swallowed. She didn't want to think of Aevin.

"But we couldn't stop. We needed the money, for food. We …just didn't know any other way…"

Lily paused. She did not want to admit this next part. "We …needed a way to convince some of the guardsmen to leave us alone...to look the other way. I was one of the oldest in group, now. I had to do something. So…I dressed up really pretty, and went to talk to one of the nicer guards one night …we…made a deal…"

"You gave him sex in return for his silence?"

Lily blushed, and nodded.

"And…it was not just that one guardsmen, was it?"

Lily shook her head reluctantly. "No, your Grace, it was not just one."

"Did you enjoy this? Or was it simply a sacrifice for the group?"

Lily blinked. Her heart quickened. She could not face this truth…could not…She closed her eyes.

"You enjoyed it?"

Lily slowly nodded. She was mortified, but it was truth. The hunger in eyes of the guardsmen when they saw her used to thrill her. She made it a game, sometimes, flashing some bit of leg when her target could do nothing but stare and wait. Her heart leapt when she saw the impatience in their eyes. They wanted her. And she learned to give them what they wanted. The married men swore she was better than their wives. And then there was that one poor guardsman who would not allow himself to have her, but paid her extra coins just to be able to fondle her breasts…and young Coltan, who would put in her a sheltered corner and order her to stay there, bent over a barrel, while he would return and take his pleasure in her every time his rounds brought him back in that direction….

"So how is it that you found your way back into the Chantry, and not into a whorehouse?"

Lily blinked and sipped her tea to gather her thoughts.

"One night, a nobleman's son was late leaving the tavern, and was walking back through the market. Damid made the mistake of thinking he'd be an easy target, since he was quite drunk, and very rich. He _was_ drunk, but he was also a trained soldier. He…killed Damid, and many of the others. There was a horrible fight. He, the nobleman, died. In the morning there was a huge scandal, a noble and a dozen kids and teenagers dead in the market."

"I'm sure they wanted to know where the guardsmen where during this time?" Yveline deduced.

Lily nodded. "Yes. There were only two on duty that night…and…they'd both were with me, during the fight…"

Silence. Lily felt the shock of it again, getting caught, and arrested. Her little group, scattered, injured, or dead. The guards arrested as well. It was her first night ever in a prison cell. She shuddered.

"I'm surprised they let you go."

"Aunt Sirna asked a favor of the Revered Mother herself. I was taken out of the prison and returned to the Chantry.

"How did you feel about this?"

"I…" Lily began, and paused. "I was grateful. My Aunt's health was poor, and I hadn't noticed until then. So I returned to my singing, and decided to try to make it up to her, and to the Maker, for all that I'd done."

The scratching of a quill against parchment was the only sound for several seconds. Lily bowed her head.

"I read that you volunteered to be sent to Kinloch Hold," Yveline prompted.

Lily nodded. "My Great Aunt died the following winter. I realized that I wanted to leave Denerim, to get a fresh start. The Chantry keeps its best singers at Kinloch, so after I took my vows, I applied to go there. The Songleader, Sister Tiralyn, writes the most beautiful chants... we sing…so our voices will remind the magi there of Andraste's sacrifice, and give them hope…"

"But that life was not enough for you?"

Lily shook her head. "No…I mean, it was. I was content."

"But, when you met the maleficarum…"

Lily froze. She remembered the day, when she first noticed Jowan staring at her. The first time, weeks later, when she'd finally given a fierce stare back at him, and he'd smiled, and winked.

Weeks had turned to months, with no words exchanged, but only glances. Lily swallowed at the memory. His eyes had revealed his longing, and she … she remembered how it felt to be wanted.

"I was drawn to him. He was sad, and seemed lonely." She looked up, knowing her words were damning her. "I should not have encouraged him, but I finally agreed to meet with him, in the chapel after evening services. He just wanted to talk…at least, that is how it began. He was worried because he was not as strong as the other apprentices. He told me…" Lily paused. "He told me that he hated magic, actually. He wanted to be a farmer. The more he talked of his dreams, the more I fell in love with the idea myself. A simple life, raising our own food, owning a cow and some chickens…" Lily smiled. "We even had names picked for the chickens…"

Yveline raised an eyebrow. Lily blushed.

"You understand, now, why such free contact is forbidden to our order?"

Lily nodded slowly. "I helped him…to think his dreams could be real."

"Without you, and the promise of your love, he never would have tried to escape. Perhaps he would not have sought out the blood magic he used to do so."

Lily nodded again. Tears she thought long past trailed down her cheeks. It was true.

"You were lovers, yes?"

"Yes, your Grace." Lily answered hoarsely. Her face burned with shame. In the very chapel itself, behind the statue of Andraste. It had felt so good, finally being with a man she thought she would have forever. She'd convinced herself it was right. Their love would make it right.

Yveline stood slowly and approached her prisoner. "So let us understand this all quite clearly…as a homeless child, you were taken in and reared by the Chantry… yet turned your back to all its teachings and mercy to run the streets instead. After having lost the last of your reputation and virtue, you came crawling back to the Chantry, who had rescued you from death…only, you turned your back yet again when the next real opportunity came along to betray its trust. Is that not a correct summation?"

Lily could only nod.

"Are you ready to die for these crimes, Lily of Denerim?'

Lily squeezed her eyes and sobbed. "Yes …Yes. I …I am. Just…I don't want to hang…please…" Her shoulders shook as she cried.

Yveline's gloved hand cupped Lily's face, and brought it up to meet her gaze. Lily swallowed, and her lips trembled with fear.

"But are you willing to earn forgiveness, instead?"

Lily sniffled, her dark eyes wide with fear…and hope.

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Reviews needed! TY!


	5. Chapter 5

**Yveline has an accent very similar to Cassandra Pentagast's...just older, and more...experienced. :-)**

**Lily has been brought to Aeonar, the secret prison of the Andrastian Chantry. The 'death' that awaits her is not quite the way she imagined things, however. **

**Chapter 5 Waste Naught, Want Naught**

Lily blinked through her tears of shame. The Chantry Mother, Yveline de l'Abriante, stared her sobs into something quieter. Yet Lily's burgeoning hope was mingled with fear as she absorbed the cold calculation she saw in the Revered Mother's eyes.

The Warden of the Chantry prison of Aeonar had asked her a question.

Was she willing to earn forgiveness?

Maker yes! Anything! Hanging by the rope terrified her. She did not want to die. At least, not like that.

" would the Maker fforgive me?" she managed to ask.

Yveline smiled slowly. "A good question." She released Lily's chin and turned toward the black-stoned fireplace. "And I will answer with a question: who WAS Andraste?"

Lily blinked with surprise. "The Maker's Bride…"

Yveline shook her head, not turning from the fire. "No. before that. She was born…what? A queen? A Magister? "

"A …slave."

Yveline turned to face her. "Exactly. A slave. Trash, to the rest of the world. But, not to the Maker."

"I don't understand…"

"Lily of Denerim, your mother did not die in childbirth. She was found dead, murdered, while you were still a babe. You were both living at a brothel near the docks."

Lily blinked. She hadn't known! Her mother had been a…a….

Yveline continued, "There is more. Your grandmother, a woman known only as Renalta, had GIVEN your mother to the Madame of the Pearl to repay a debt. According to the report, your grandmother had been a servant to one of the Orleasian Arls that ruled the city during the Occupation. No one knows exactly that that debt was, or what happened to her afterwards. When your grandmother's sister, Sirna, was questioned, it was her guess that Renalta had traveled with her employers to Orlais, after King Maric regained the throne."

Lily was speechless.

Yveline's lips curved slightly. "It is to your credit that you regard your great aunt so highly, Lily, but in truth, she was a poor excuse to her calling. Did she seek out her niece, your mother, at this brothel? Did she come looking for you, the helpless babe? No. Someone from the city guard brought you to the Chantry. It was almost chance that he remembered to ask after a Chantry sister named Sirna, and that she would be your last living relative.

"Did she ever once come looking for you in the streets, Lily? Did she find you? Comfort you? Did she offer love and education to your entire band of unwanted street urchins?"

Lily blinked. She could not blame this on Sirna?. She shook her head slowly…

Yveline's steely eyes sparkled coldly. "She did not! It was her duty as your aunt and her duty as Chantry Sister, but she did NOT! She did not want you. It was well known to her fellow sisters. You sought what you needed elsewhere." She motioned with her black-gloved hand…then made a fist. Yveline had little patience for those who failed in their sworn duty. "Pitiful." She shook her head then. "But your soul is not beyond redemption, Lily, for all of your crimes. It is simply a question of what you are willing to do about it."

Without warning, the woman turned and pulled a black-handled knife from its sheath. Lily shrank back, startled and frightened. For a woman with silvered hair and a missing foot, the Revered Mother could still move with a terrifying speed and precision.

The knife…was reversed, and offered to Lily hilt-first.

"Do you seek absolution, Lily? There are two paths. You do not wish the rope, so I offer this: Take this knife, beg the Maker for forgiveness, and cut your wrists. That is the easy path. Over, and done. What say you?"

Lily stared at the knife. She did not take it.

Yveline smiled slowly. "The second path is not so easy. I have learned that the Maker does not throw away those who are willing to be used for His sake. Will you give yourself to His cause?"

Lily looked up into Yveline's gaze. The hope that had been born earlier slowly melted as she understood, somehow, that death would be easier than the life that was being offered to her now.

"I…I don't know if I am strong enough …"

"I will teach you to be strong. You will find cleansing. Purification. Purpose. And the perfection that comes from serving the Maker himself."

Lily blinked. Perfection? Strength? She'd been little more than nothing her entire life, and now she was being offered …offered so much more. A third time, she was being rescued from death. She was terrified. But she did not want to die. She slowly nodded. "I…want…I want to serve."

"There will be pain. There is no change without pain."

Lily trembled. She found herself nodding. Yes.

Yveline slid her knife around in her hand again. "Instead of death, you will find life, Lily. True life…" the razor-sharp knife began to cut away Lily's hair. Lily startled, but did not move. It had begun. She would not fight this.

"You must first be purified. We all must. We cannot become more without first losing that which holds us back….

The auburn locks fell to the cold grey stones.

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more! soon!


	6. Chapter 6

**[Lily of Denerim had helped to free a maleficarum. Instead of Death in Aeonar, however, her jailers have something different in mind. Death is too easy for those who owe the Maker a favor...]**

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**Chapter 6: At Peace with the Maker**

Caeörlyr Sestin had been a Magister. He remembered those days clearly, despite the brand on his forehead. He recalled with perfect efficiency his magnificent power, his army of eager servants, the deaths of his many rivals.

His defeat, by the woman to whom he bowed.

Yveline de l'Abriante.

He hated her. He loved her.

In return for his reconnection to the Fade, he had given her his soul.

"Cae, you mistake me. The prisoner's death was his own doing," she told him, not looking up from her work on the desk before her.

He sighed with relief and stood. The runes he designed were meant to dwell in living flesh, but his latest creations took too large a toll. No one had yet survived the entire process. "I will destroy the rune, Excellency. I beg forgiveness for my error."

Yveline regarded him then, the ice in her gaze a calm, steady thing. She pursed her lips in thought, then shook her head. "Non. There is another, and I believe her to be stronger than the others you have had."

Cae lifted an eyebrow in surprise. He'd been busy with his work the entire day and had not heard. "Another? Is she willing…?" he asked, licking his lips with anticipation. To have another chance to see his most powerful creation come to life …

Yveline's lips curved into a hint of a smile. "She is eager to serve the Maker, Cae. I have reason to believe that she may be the one we have prayed to receive."

He could not believe his good favor. His body tingled eagerly. He bowed again, "I will prepare the chambers, Excellency."

"Let us hope that we are worthy enough to have the Maker's favor this time," Yveline replied, fighting to keep impatience from her voice. Without her gifted Hunters, she would be powerless to serve both the Divine and the Maker from this desolate post. It was up to the powerful Enchanter before her to give her those Hunters.

It was time for Lily of Denerim to find her own Peace in serving the Maker.

IOI

The Hunter Captain stood alone on the highest tower of Aeonar.

The bitter winds of the mountain night tore at his cloak and ruffled his short, unnaturally white hair.

It seemed sweet to him. He welcomed the painful cold.

It was less painful than the hum of magic in his blood.

He closed his eyes and reached for peace. Duty. The sure satisfaction of a task well done…

The feel of a soft woman's body next to his.

Vehne drew back his lips in a hiss of anger.

Why? Why had those memories returned?

He closed his fists in frustration. His Cleansing had left him still male. Her Excellency had thought, with the runes of inhuman strength and endurance grafted into his body, his maleness would be an asset.

She'd been right, of course. He was her best Hunter, he knew. He had a drive to succeed against any odds. Many of the others, no longer male nor female, could not match him in this.

He wondered what would become of the prisoner.

He hated that he wondered.

They would shape her. Magic her. Give her the runes, and a fantastic new rune that would make her into a most powerful weapon indeed.

She would need training.

If she survived.

The magic seething across the thinness of the Veil screamed at his senses as he surveyed the steely black of the towers around him. He felt the sheer power of the lyrium in the mountain beneath him. It was as much a part of Aeonar as the towers and the stone.

He basked in all of it, but still could not distract his mind.

He would ask to train her. Surely Yveline would not deny him this.

Vehne whirled in a blur of black and silver and plunged into the stairway, fading into the shadows as he went.

IOI

Lily shivered, naked in the darkness, curled up into a tight ball on the bare cot.

She'd been shaved and bathed in a silvery water, then left here with instructions to rest.

The Revered Mother had told her to embrace her new life; to live every moment with the desire to redeem her past mistakes. She would earn her forgiveness. She would find peace and acceptance.

Lily shivered and swore. All she had found so far was a growing case of possible frostbite.

And terror.

Damn you, Jowan, she thought. Damn us both.

Her cell door was open. There was no one to stop her. She could leave at any time, although the only exit to Aeonar for her would be dangling at the end of a long rope. She was welcome to go claim a noose and jump at any time she wanted.

She thought of the knife Eveline had offered her. The next time she offered, would it be so easy to refuse it?

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**Next: The Cleansing. *shiver* Not sure if I want to write it, but I'll give it a try.**

**Please review! First go at writing something edged with darkness...**


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: The heart of Aeonar is a dark, dark place. Do not read this if you are squeamish. Lily faces her fate at last. Will she find any hope before it is through?**

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**Chapter 7 Purification**

Blessed are the righteous, the lights in the shadow.

In their blood the Maker's will is written.

-Benedictions 4:11[5]

Lily startled, had she fallen asleep? She shivered on the hard cot. The cold had seeped into her joints and was throbbing painfully…

Someone was coming.

Her shivers turned to shaking. Was it time? So soon?

Tears gathered in the corner of her eyes. She was so, so sorry. Wouldn't anyone forgive her?

Quiet footfalls came to rest in her cell. She did not open her eyes.

A dry rustle of fabric. She felt movement of cold mountain air as someone crouched beside the cot. The smell of fresh snow filled her little cell.

Maybe if she just ignored them they would forget about her…

Her back was turned to her visitor.

Another rustle, and the unmistakable sound of a glove being pulled from a hand.

Lily blinked, and tensed.

A pointed fingernail traced down her shoulder and down along the side of her naked body.

Lily trembled as terror crept up from her toes.

The visitor leaned close. An impossibly low, ruined voice said quietly, "They will come for you soon. Be strong."

Lily whimpered.

He stood. His cloak brushed her skin as he turned and departed.

IOI

He was right; they were coming.

Cheerless blue light from a strange staff lit her room. She allowed them to gather her to her feet. The stone floor was colder than she remembered.

She thought of the rope and wondered if she'd been a fool to refuse it.

In the hallway, Yveline waited, all silver and black.

Lily's knees gave way involuntarily. The Revered Mother motioned, and the guards allowed Lily to remain where she'd landed. With an easy strength, Yveline knelt on one knee beside her prisoner and lifted her chin in her gloved hand.

Lily wanted to blubber like a baby…but something in Yveline's steely gaze prevented her.

"Do you wish the knife today, Lily of Denerim? I will not offer this again until your Cleansing is complete."

Lily reached cautiously, her shaky fingers fumbling against the hilts of several knives tucked into a snug bandolier around the Chantry mother's armor…

Yveline regarded Lily's eyes.

Ashamed, Lily's hand fell away. It wasn't bravery to face her punishment; it was pure cowardice at the thought of taking her own life.

Be strong, the voice had said. Lily wanted to snort. What a joke. She wanted to tell them not to bother, she was too afraid to face anything. _Don't waste your time on me_.

She was further frightened that they might listen, so she held her peace.

Yveline nodded and stood, apparently satisfied. "Today, you will face your sins and find cleansing in the sight of the Maker. You will become Pure again.

"Take her below."

The guards lifted the girl to her feet, and took her away. Yveline watched. Despite the girl's fear, she was certain there was hidden strength inside. If all went well…

She turned and was surprised to find her Hunter Captain standing in her shadow. She arched an eyebrow. "Vehne? What is it?"

He made the most surprising request…

IOI

Brother Hamrick surveyed the Cleansing chamber with satisfaction; all was in readiness. His Tranquil assistants were making final adjustments to the holding table, opening the braces and buckles for the next occupant.

Maker willing, the girl would survive, and find forgiveness, and a new purpose.

The lyrium-forged branding irons waited in their cauldron over the magical white fire.

He tensed, and paced slightly. It was an honor and a privilege to assist the Revered Mother with her process. He fought to remain calm and impassive, but the dreaded excitement began to burn through his veins. He tried to fight it, but his eyes slid to his favorite assistant, a delicate elf named Liessa. He motioned to her and she came to him. He leaned close to one of her exquisite ears.

"After we are through with the session, remain here until I come back for you."

"Yes, Brother Hamrick." She blinked, thinking. "You wish to fuc.."

"Shhh!" he put a hand over her mouth. "Yes, like before…" he said. "You speak of no one about this, except to me…" His hand dropped to massage her right breast as he spoke to her. He wished she could enjoy his touch as he enjoyed touching her. Still, it was enough to know he would find release after the session, when he would dearly need it. He had prayed for deliverance for his cravings; had volunteered for duty in Aeonar to punish himself for them, and instead of taking away his desires, the Maker had provided him dozens of partners to slake his never-ending thirst.

Brother Hamrick did not understand it. Was it a mercy of the Maker, or his eternal damnation?

He remembered reading an illegal pamphlet, once. It suggested that the Maker had allowed Andraste to die so he could have her all to himself in the Fade. It had implied heavily that he wanted to complete the union of their betrothal.

Probably rubbish, Hamrick thought. But maybe, just maybe, the Maker understood his weakness and allowed the Tranquil to serve…

The door opened. Hamrick whisked his hand away from Liessa's breast and turned to direct the guards.

It was time.

IOI

Relief that the room was warm instantly evaporated when Lily saw the tilted table with buckles and grooves.

Grooves. To direct…blood?

She saw two crystal bowls on the floor beneath the table, where the grooves would direct fluids from her body.

She fought. There was no way she would do this! "No!" she screamed. "I changed my mind! NO, please, no!" she begged.

It was too late.

The guards were ready. They lifted her, with the assistance of many Tranquiled hands, and locked her onto the table. Buckles and braces kept her head and body tight to the board. Most disturbingly, her feet were buckled wide apart. She was completely exposed. Her heart beat so hard she felt as if it would push out of her chest.

She begged. She pleaded. She cried.

The white-blue iron was lifted, and the Chantry Brother intoned, "The Maker has heard your confessions, Lily of Denerim. Accept now the fire of Purification, and be Cleansed.

The iron descended. No! No, not there! Maker no!

Lily screamed.


	8. Chapter 8

**_Here lies the abyss, the well of all souls._**  
**_From these emerald waters doth life begin anew._**  
**_Come to me, child, and I shall embrace you._**  
**_In my arms lies Eternity._**

**_-Andraste 14:11[3]_**

**Chapter 8**

Vehne rested against cold stone, motionless in the dark and uncharted bowels of Aeonar.

The sounds of her screams had become something else…something which triggered strange memories…

_He remembered the shiny tube, holed only near the end, that his grandfather had proudly shown him. He saw again his own young hands, eagerly reaching for the whistle. "It's broken!" he'd complained, after filling his lungs and blowing on the thing. _

_His grandfather's laugh had held a rusty edge. "It is not broken, Vehne," he'd explained. "It is a dragonling whistle. My father gave this to me when I was your age. There is something in the sound that humans cannot hear; something which compels the young dragonlings to come running! In his day, your great grandfather had cleared hundreds of dragon spawn from their hidden lairs! Ah, the glory! For after this whistle is blown, Vehne, the adult dragons follow, and then the real hunt begins!" _

Vehne regarded the chamber door before him. Like a dragonling, he was snared by the sound coming from within. It was like a keening; this sound of vocal cords torn beyond repair.

He remembered.

And waited.

And listened to her soundless screams.

**-IOI-**

The former magistrate strode purposefully through the ancient hallways of Aeonar. The power of the fortress, the singing of the Fade, reverberated through his veins. The brand on his forehead, now a lie, reminded him of his greater purpose; the demons who shouted to him were a nuisance, nothing more. If anything, their ache to touch, to possess, his life gave him a sense of elation. Of …triumph.

Caeörlyr Sestin knew without a doubt that he was one of the strongest mages in all of Thedas.

Perhaps THE strongest.

He smiled at the thought. The secrets of Aeonar were worth the years he'd spent Tranquil. It was more than a fair deal. And he had only just begun! He'd keep the damnable White Divine hip-deep in his Hunter creations if he had to, so long as it kept him here.

And he would make Yveline d'Abriante trust him; make her forget that once they had been enemies.

A tic jerked the skin in his cheek and his expression clouded. And one day, he would kill her. Slowly.

But not yet.

He stopped before the thick, iron-clad door which led to the Cleansing chamber. It was a joke, this cleansing that the Chantry insisted upon. All he required for his Shaping was a submissive subject. Caeörlyr strongly suspected Brother Hamrick's enthusiasm for his post belied something dark and most….unchantry-like. _The fool._

A tell-tale tingling of the runes set in his bracers was the only warning he received. He whirled about, ready to call power-

Vehne.

Caeörlyr scowled momentarily and then schooled his expression. Was it Vehne's fault he was so magnificent? So powerful? The magister could never stay angry with his most beloved of creations. "Vehne…what are you doing here?"

The Hunter Captain slid from the shadows, the runes which blurred his form stilling so he could be easily seen. He nodded respectfully to the mage and shifted his grey eyes to the door meaningfully. "She has been silent for several minutes, Enchanter," he answered in his deep, scraping voice.

The mage frowned. Maker curse the priest if he'd killed yet another subject! Perhaps it was past time to discredit the puerile brother and replace him with someone who could handle the responsibility? He made a note to interview the Tranquil who served the Hamrick…

The door opened.

Caeörlyr saw Vehne's hand fly to the hilt of his sword and rest there, waiting.

The Tranquil mage who stood in the doorway merely blinked. His dull gaze left Vehne and lighted upon the Magister. "Brother Hamrick says the prisoner is ready, Enchanter," he said.

Caeörlyr nodded and pushed past the assistant to inspect the unconscious girl. Two bowls of watery blood rested in the crystal basins on the floor. His staff would need those fluids to enchant her gear later, if she survived. He rested a hand on her bare middle. The girl's skin was sleek with sweat and blood, yet he felt weak but steady breathing beneath. Reaching for power, he touched her with his magic, sensing the extent of the damage…and grunted. His eyes snapped to the Chantry Brother with ill-disguised disgust. "Are you certain you are through, Hamrick?" he mocked.

Brother Hamrick was washing his hands in a deep sink. A pretty elvhen Tranquil held a towel for him. Without looking at the mage, the brother answered. "She has been Cleansed, Enchanter, and her soul been restored to the Maker's will."

Caeörlyr refrained from rolling his eyes. He motioned for the Tranquil to unlock the grooved slab from its support. Whatever reply he could have supplied the Chantry brother would have been a waste of time.

Many Tranquil hands lifted the tabletop and carried the prisoner out into the corridor. The Enchantment chambers were further below, deeper within the mountain. He waved them on and watched with a growing curiosity as Vehne joined the procession. The Hunter Captain's interest was unusual, as was the Revered Mother's request. Were the two connected?

Caeörlyr smiled. _Do not worry, Vehne. I will make her perfect for you._

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_Final chapter is next! Please, review, even though this one is short. _


	9. Chapter 9

_**[AN: Trying to balance what Lily experiences versus what is tasteful to reveal...her story has dragged me to some strange and dark places!]**_

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**Chapter 9**

_**In secret they worked**_  
_**Magic upon magic**_  
_**All their power and all their vanity**_  
_**They turned against the Veil**_  
_**Until at last, it gave way.**_

_-Threnodies 8_

The cool liquid in her throat was a momentary blessing.

Lily opened her eyes slowly, her senses dulled beyond normal reason. She struggled to remember where she was, why she hurt so badly…

She recalled the voice of the Chantry brother as it floated across her consciousness. He quoted scripture, and burned her flesh…quoted scripture, and cut her skin…quoted scripture, and cauterized the lacerations to stem the flow of blood...

She blinked slowly. Was she dying? The room was blue and hummed with a strange ….power. Perhaps this was the Fade?

Someone touched the end of a funnel to her mouth again, and more water, tinged with some sort of herb, bathed her mouth.

It was a mercy. She was so very thirsty. She felt like she'd been thirsty forever.

A face peered into hers. The brand on the bald man's forehead marked him as Tranquil, but his eyes danced with a vibrant intelligence that did not correspond at all with his mark.

"Are you crying, girl?" the mage asked. He tsked, and wiped under one of her eyes with his thumb. "Do not waste your energies so."

Lily tried to apologize, but her voice would not work.

He moved away.

Bitter, crisp smells filled the room as blue light danced and pulsed. She thought she saw a Tranquil – a real one, not the bald man – reverently carry a small, glowing chip of silverite and place it on a velvet-lined tray.

Lily felt her eyelids droop again.

"Stay awake," the mage who was not Tranquil commanded.

Lily nodded. She would try. She swallowed dryly and wondered if there would be more water.

She sensed more bustling about the chamber and heard quiet murmurs of preparation. The burns on her body thrummed steadily back to life, raging with internal heat. It was a wonder her skin wasn't still smoking… if she could only ask for more water…

As if summoned by her thoughts, smoke swirled in the air, and Lily blinked in surprise.

A moment later, she understood. The smoke did not emanate from the fire raging in her many brands, but rather from an ornate, metallic flask. A Tranquil carried it to her table, holding it by way of long tongs by bottle's neck.

The Enchanter reappeared in her view. "We are ready to begin. Do you remember your name?"

Lily nodded.

"Good. What is it?"

Lily tried to speak. The man frowned, and leaned closer, turning his ear to her mouth. "Tell me your name."

"Lll..lli…..ll…eee"

He nodded. "Yes, I remember now. Lily? Good."

He motioned and another funnel device was placed in her mouth. "Keep breathing through your nose. You need this infusion to survive the enchantment. Focus, Lily. Focus on swallowing, or the stuff will fill your lungs."

He sounded like he wanted to help her. He nodded, then, to the Tranquil, who moved to pour the effervescent liquid into the funnel jammed between her teeth.

Lily tried. The potion they poured into her mouth burned like acid! Her tongue, her mouth! It was eating her flesh from within!

"Swallow, Lily! Do not fight this! Embrace the change!"

Her body found new energy and arched in protest, bucking against the straps and restraints. A Tranquil held her head still and another kept the funnel in place.

It was choking her; she had no choice. She swallowed, gulping down the hideous fluid, suckling like an infant on a poisoned teat. Tears rolled from her eyes.

Nausea warred with an intense, ripping sort of pain in her innards. What were they doing to her? _Maker, please…_

The Enchanter watched the changes with a clinical eye. Streaks of lyrium blue surfaced on her skin and the whites of her eyes took on the color of the midday sky.

It was time.

He called his own power to himself; through it, he commanded the power inside the woman.

"Quickly now-" he selected his first knife, and cut into her left shoulder. Her blood flowed silvery red, but slowly, responding to his magical guidance.

His assistant set the first rune within. Magic met magic, and flared…fused.

He nodded. "Second shoulder…" he instructed. He selected a second knife. Moving deftly, he made a second incision.

The second rune took beautifully. It was good.

Now…

Caeörlyr took a deep breath and drew his knife to the center of her chest. This was trickiest. He measured the girl's strength and decided to attempt, once more, his prize creation. The Revered Mother had correctly assessed Lily's endurance. The Wight rune was larger, more complex; it had been achieved only by the compilation of many hands. It was his design, although he could no longer do the actual runework in the silverite; that was for his assistants to accomplish. It was his magic which fused the body to the completed rune.

The best sort of blood magic.

He pressed the knife into her chest, cutting with care. He slowed her heart, but could not take too long to fuse her or she would die.

He growled with effort, forcing his magic to obey him, willing the girl…Lily; willing her to live. To breathe. To embrace her new life.

The complex rune soaked her blood into itself. It pulled the silvery light from her body into its design….

"Come on …." Caeörlyr murmured.

Light flared, bathing the room with a momentary brilliance.

It was done! She …LIVED.

Caeörlyr laughed. He'd done it!

"And now, to make things …perfect."

His Tranquil brought an oblong box of darkest onyx. Inside, a half-meter rod of glowing red lyrium pulsed angrily. Caeörlyr grasped the protective hilt, careful not to contact the glowing end of the wand.

The Shaping Rod. For this part, it was best if she remained unconscious.

He began at her feet; changing some muscles, moving others. Bones strengthened, reinforced. The runes in her body gave her tremendous strength; If he did not change her, bones would snap and muscles would tear.

He'd learned that the hard way. Poor sods.

Her flesh rippled under the red glow. He dissolved two of her ribs for the material with which to strengthen her arms and shoulders; he redirected muscle from her middle as well; moved it.

The design of her hands was his latest innovation. He licked his lips in concentration as power flared; her fingers elongated, became shaped with an extra joint, and were followed by the hardening of her nails into short, indestructible claws.

Finally, he remembered his promise. With a smile, he worked the last gently. There was not much flesh left to shape, but she would have a bit of graceful figure; everything which made her female he left intact. It was not normally his preference, but Yveline had requested, and Vehne waited impatiently.

It was done.

She was perfect. His creation, born anew with the Wight rune intact.

Lily Wight.

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**Epilogue to follow: a look at what she has become.**


	10. Chapter 10: Epilogue

**[Notes at the end: TY everyone who has read this, fav'd and sent reviews! Here, finally, is the new (and improved?) Lily ...]**

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**Chapter 10: Epilogue  
**

Weeks passed. The snows deepened as the sunlight waned.

In Ferelden, lands that were not already tainted and twisted with Blight become bloodied by civil war.

Yveline d'Abriante read the scrolls before her and frowned. So the Divine was wringing her hands over her beloved homeland? Supporting that snake, Logain Mac Tir, was certainly NOT in the Chantry's best interest, no matter how desperate Justinia was to reestablish order. Any fool could see this, and not simply because Mac Tir was single-handedly responsible for more Orlesian deaths than any other man alive. Yveline's brow furrowed.

Grey Wardens, guilty of regicide? She scoffed. Hardly. Not that it was beyond their purview given the need; but in this case, Cailan had been a biddable young monarch, easily influenced by the famed warriors. The Grey Wardens had no cause to remove anyone…save maybe that selfsame Teryn of Gwaren who was now, conveniently, the highest ranking survivor of the debacle at Ostagar.

For a moment, she wondered where Stroud was…but shook her head to clear it. She had to focus! These lies depicting the Wardens as traitors…

Justinia surely was not accepting these tales as truth? Was she?

The Chantry was weakened with every political misstep; it was merely a matter of time before they would be forced to set Justinia aside and search for a new Divine, one that would have the resources in place to make a difference.

Yveline intended to be that person.

Her assistant, Staffanios, brought her a steaming mug of tea. She thanked him and sipped it thoughtfully, leaning back from her desk. Let her opponents think her safely neutralized in far-away Aeonar; she would show them the true power of the Maker's gifts.

She noticed that Steffanios had remained waiting at her elbow. So there was news? "Steffan?" she asked, "Are they ready for the demonstration?"

"On vous attend, Exellence, " he answered in Orlesian, his once-vibrant tenor voice a monotone. Yveline shuddered mentally; somehow, it seemed wrong when the Tranquil spoke her beloved home tongue. No one should ever speak that language without passion.

She nodded simply and stood, foregoing any assistance. Caeörlyr's latest improvement to her prosthetic foot had strengthened the connection between her body and the wooden construct. He predicted that with further study, he would be able to magically fashion a foot that would feel, and react, as if it were real. Yveline was not entirely comfortable with the use of magics on her body, especially magics cast from the hand of a former Imperial Magister, but for the moment, she was willing to see what he could do.

Steffanios settled a heavy cloak over her shoulders. The demonstration was arranged to occur in one of the outer, gated, courtyards. Not so coincidentally, one of the local Avvari tribesmen was being held there, demanding trial by combat to prove his worthiness to be released. Caeörlyr was a man who understood Yveline's mantra of never wasting an opportunity.

It was time to see her new, reformed and perfected, Lily of Denerim. Yveline smiled with anticipation.

* * *

They rarely spoke.

Even after weeks, Lily could hardly manage more than a whisper.

She found, however, that they often understood each other without speaking. It was a language of subtle movements and gestures.

Vehne stood behind her, assisting with the last buckles of her new armor. Small, black-red runes graced the corners of everything she wore; her blood runes linked her armor and weapons to her body. She flexed her shoulders experimentally and nodded. It was good.

He turned her so that she could see herself in a clouded mirror.

The armor was sleek, a metal infused with volcanic glass that was light and strong. It gave her thin form more substance, and she liked that part. Her large eyes, the color of dark mahogany, were out of place against her silky white hair. She blinked and stared at herself, barely remembering, now, the color her hair used to be.

Or who _she_ used to be.

Her gaze met Vehne's in the mirror. He approved. He…was proud of her; was confident. Lily's lips moved with a touch of a smile. Her training was still in progress, but she was ready to be presented to the Revered Mother. Lily was eager to prove her worth.

Vehne turned her body to face him again and gathered the thick silk wrappings which protected their skin from the sunlight. Caeörlyr could not explain why this was a side effect of his magics, just that it was so. Direct sunlight on her exposed skin would cause her pain; prolonged exposure might even interfere with the functioning of the runes within her body. Vehne finished wrapping her head, leaving only her eyes exposed, and reached for her helm. With a last, wordless look of encouragement, he set it into place.

She was ready.

* * *

Svarenn paced the confines of the courtyard.

The icy winds of deep winter tore at his furs, but he ignored them. His clan mother had always claimed that he'd been the son of Hakkon Wintersbreath himself. Svarenn did not think this could be so; he didn't FEEL as if he were the son of a god, but it was true enough that the bitter winds did not trouble him.

The dark, stone walls of this cursed place, however, troubled him greatly. He'd never before encountered stone he could not climb. His skin crawled at the thought of just how these walls must have been built in the first place. They were too smooth; their seams too perfectly placed. Ancient Tevinters and their foul magics had pulled this stone from the heart of the mountain, and it was pure sacrilege to him.

He could not escape.

He called loudly to the unmoving guards on the wall above the yard, demanding again the right of trial. The rite of combat. Anything other than slowly dying of starvation here in the inhumane place! Curse them for knowing that any of the Avvar people would go slowly mad with the loss of their prized freedom.

Curse them all!

He paced, until movement on the other end of the yard caught his attention. Through the heavy portcullis he spied the approach of a small group of people.

The Chantry Mother, he supposed, and some of her knights. Svarenn scoffed. Let them come. He was ready. He planted his feet wide apart, set his hands on his hips and glared defiantly.

A woman in black armor draped with a fur-lined Chantry robe stepped up to the bars. "Unnamed Avvari! You are charged with attacking our supply caravans, resulting in the foul murder of two Orlesian merchants and their guardmen. How do you plead?"

Svarenn spat. The men in question had been prospecting on lands HIS clan had claimed for the year. As far as he was concerned, their deaths were justified...not that it would matter to the woman who was speaking.

The Revered Mother pursed her lips. Was he angering her? He hoped so.

She continued. "You have requested the clan rite of Trial by Combat. We believe, also, that the Maker favors his own, and so your wish has been granted."

A tall Templar to her right placed Svarenn's sword on the paving stones and kicked it under the portcullis.

Svarenn's heart soared! His prayers had been heard! He scooped up his greatsword with a grace that belied his great size. They were fools, these Andrastians. Complete fools.

Of course, even if he won, they would not release him. Of that, he was certain.

Joy filled his heart nonetheless. He wondered how many of the cowards would face him at once, and how many he would kill before they finally overwhelmed him.

A lone woman approached the portcullis. That she intended to fight him was obvious; she was completely armored and wore a horseman's mace of solid metal at her hip and a long knife on the opposite thigh. A buckler with the sunburst etching graced her left forearm.

Svarenn laughed…

**…until she stepped into the unopened gate. The ****thick metal bars pas****sed through her body, leaving her unharmed as she emerged inside the courtyard with him.**

He blinked. The hairs on the back of his neck stood and he growled like an angry wolf. Witchcraft! He spat again, and gripped his sword more tightly. If it bled, it could still die.

She unlimbered the heavy mace at her side. It was held by a long chain to her wrist.

He charged, closing the distance between them and slicing with his great sword.

The blade passed through her as if it passed through air. He swung again with no better results, with a move that should have removed her head cleanly from her body.

He cursed, and backpedaled. "What evil is this!? Fight me!"

She nodded. The air around her grew less shimmery and he lunged again. She blocked it with her shield and danced backward from the blow. Svarenn had sent huge men flying with that very same move, yet she kept her footing. More magic, he feared.

They circled.

She swung heavily with the steel mace and he barely avoided it. The weapon and its chains were nearly as heavy as the woman, if she were indeed a real woman. Svarenn did not want to contemplate what it was. He also did not want to feel that mace against his unprotected skull.

She batted away his counterstrike, and they circled again.

He sneered. "Witch! Demon!" He shifted his large blade to one hand. He would have to be a little faster. He feinted, then struck-

His wrist was caught in the woman's gloved hand. Before he could push her back, she squeezed. His bones popped and shattered! His sword dropped to the paving stones as he screamed.

A vicious kick sent her back, but not nearly far enough. He backed away, unable to risk a move for his weapon. His right hand hung, useless. She followed, relentlessly stalking him, drawing her mace back to her hand.

An audience had gathered, along with the Revered Mother, at the top of the wall.

Svarenn spared a baleful glance in their direction. He played the part of the caged animal so well for them, their entertainment for the afternoon. He raged, bellowed curses at all of them, and flew at his attacker again.

She shimmered, and he passed through her body, sprawling headlong onto the pavement.

He knew he was dead before her knife entered his back. He felt it twist, and she thrust deeply into him again.

He saw his own blood pool over the grey stones before his vision faded.

* * *

The Warden of Aeonar, Yveline d'Abriante, watched as Lily pulled the bloodied blade from the dead man's back. The Mage Caeörlyr stood by her side, awaiting the Revered Mother's official opinion.

"The rune….worked," she acknowledged. Despite having been apprised of its existence, she'd been surprised, and disturbed, to see it in actuality.

Caeörlyr raised an eyebrow. Of course his rune had worked! Did she think him a fool to call this demonstration for nothing? The former magister calmed himself with a deep breath; he sensed that Yveline was still contemplating the repercussions of what she'd witnessed.

There was silence as snowflakes drifted lazily from the leaden sky. Steam curled up from the bloody hole in the barbarian's back as he lay in the courtyard. Lily cleaned her long knife on the dead man's furs, sheathed the blade, and turned to face her creators. She knelt before them and bowed her head.

"She is not a Templar, Caeörlyr. How shall she hunt mages?" Yveline asked.

"The runes protect her from many kinds of magic, Excellency," he replied. "Only spirit energy can actually harm her if she can use her Wight abilities to blend into the Fade."

Yveline frowned thoughtfully and stepped closer to the edge of the walkway, continuing to study the scene below. Her instincts tingled with a warning that she had pushed, at long last, against the boundaries of what magic could decently achieve in its service to the Chantry.

Yet this woman before her, did she not deserve now to live out the years of forgiveness she had earned?

These were the tools the Maker had provided her, and Yveline would not allow them to be wasted. She nodded curtly. "Well done, all of you!"

Lily raised her gaze to the Revered Mother, ill-disguised adoration evident in her every movement. She was hers entirely to command.

Yveline's expression softened. She spared a glance to her Hunter Captain, and offered him a nod of congratulations as well.

Vehne's pale grey eyes revealed little as he bowed his head respectfully.

"I propose a trip to Ferelden for the both of you," Yveline declared. "The Chantry will have need of services you can provide. And perhaps, while you are there, you'll repay Kinloch Hold by returning a certain, missing, maleficar…"

Lily hissed. "Jowan."

* * *

**_C'est fini! Was it what you expected? Me neither! Pls review!_**

**A few notes (answers to questions I've received): **

**_1) Yes, Yveline is Orlesian - she is the last of a ducal house; thus she can be the Duchesse d'Abriante (addressed as your grace), as the Warden of Aeonar, she is entitled to "your excellency" and, finally, as a Revered Mother, I believe she is addressed as "Your reverence". She is a completely DRIVEN personality. She lost her foot in a battle with a Qunari.- but that is another story. :-)_**

**_2) Vehne is a Templar who volunteered for the changes done to him. *shudder* His story involves a wife who hid her magic...yeah, it ended badly. _**

**_3) Yes, there are a lot of sickos in this story. It's a prison parked where the Fade is thin; it can't be a good, wholesome thing! _**

**_4) Wights are creatures from Nordic (?) legend. They appear as ghost creatures in Tolkien's Fellowship of the Ring, the old barrows (burial chambers) of dead kings, not to far from Weathertop, if memory serves). _**

**_5) A possible sequel: Should she find Jowan? Does the magic take more and more a toll in her body and she ends up needing to sustain herself with blood? ewww..._**

**_6) PM me/review if you have any ideas/comments/complaints, etc!_**


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